


Better Met by Moonlight

by SeemsRatherSketchy



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: I love these guys, M/M, Romance, Shakespearean prose, and they love each other imo, sliiiiightly pale shade of purple prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeemsRatherSketchy/pseuds/SeemsRatherSketchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it was fate that led Mercutio to Benvolio there, under that tree, in the middle of the night in fair Verona. Or maybe some part of him just knew he'd be there. Maybe some part of him always had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Met by Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> My first work posted here. I love Bencutio and I feel like there simply isn't enough of this pairing on the internet, because there really isn't!  
> I spent a very long while researching Shakespearean language for this, so hopefully it all sounds authentic!  
> I hope you enjoy it!

"Oh."

Benvolio instantly recognized the soft whisper, finding the voice almost unsettlingly easy to identify. He turned, unable to muster any sort of astonishment.

"Ah, Mercutio. Hail fellow, well met!" the Montague intoned sarcastically.

"Marry, your tone does not agree with your words, dear Benvolio! Art thou angry?"

"Nay. Well, not at thee." Benvolio sighed and shifted to the side in a silent invitation. Mercutio smiled and settled himself down comfortably, folding his wiry body up beside Benvolio. Wandering aimlessly down a forest path had brought him to the crest of a grassy hill just outside of Verona. It was dotted with tall cypress trees and peacefully silent. An ideal place to ponder, in Mercutio’s weary eyes.

It was odd that they should meet in so similar a place at so unusual a time, but then again, the two always had an odd way of finding each other. Darkness had long since fallen, cloaking Verona in the inky bluish-black of night. The stars were clear and twinkling, apt to be gazed upon by any restless soul with a great deal of thinking to do in the middle of the night. And restless were both Benvolio and Mercutio as they sat in silence and cast their eyes to the sky.

"If thou dost not mind my asking," Mercutio uttered quietly, breaking the lengthy silence, "Why art thou troubled?"

Benvolio exhaled heavily through his nose in exasperation.

"Oh, Mercutio, why am I ever troubled? It is dear Romeo again, lamenting yet another unrequited love, reciting poetry detailing the delicate beauty in yet another maiden's face. And this day I did not have you to shame him into silence and good humor with well-worded jests," Benvolio heaved a soft sigh, an airy chuckle tumbling out after it. He didn't mention the persistent and confusing ache in his chest, keenly felt, even now. _Especially_ now. He allowed his eyes to flicker to Mercutio’s face and felt a twinge in his chest.

"I would that I had been there to aid you. Perchance it was not such a good idea, methinks, to provoke Tybalt into another brawl. He is skilled by the sword, though his fists are sluggish." the Prince's kinsman snorted, recounting the fight in his mind.

Both he and Tybalt had disarmed each other, resulting in fisticuffs that could have gone much worse for Mercutio. He had only incurred a substantial bruise now purpling on his left cheek. Tybalt, however, looked as if he had his head slammed into the cobbled street multiple times (this, of course, may or may not have actually happened). The hot-headed Prince of Cats had not guessed Mercutio's fists to be as quick and poignant as his wit. Both men were forced to flee when a few furious citizens threatened to contact the authorities, which left Benvolio the task of dealing with Romeo's acute lovesickness alone.

Mercutio had felt quite peculiar since his departure, his mood suffering severely after being parted from his friend. Well, friends. Though there were two, Romeo was, more often than not, out of his mind with love and not entirely the friend Benvolio and Mercutio knew. Benvolio liked to blame the personality shift on the mild weather of spring, but Mercutio felt it had more to do with their youngest friend's crazed hormones. At least Benvolio would always be himself. Sometimes he was the only constant in Mercutio's whirlwind of a life.

"His fists cannot be too slow,” Benvolio retorted, “He hit his target at least once." Benvolio’s blue-green eyes flickered to the splotch of purpling flesh on his friend’s cheek while his full lips tilted into a sly smirk.

"Aye. Though well met by moonlight, Benvolio, thine eyes art surely ill to be met with my face, especially by the light of the moon." chuckled Mercutio.

"Oh, ‘tis not so bad. A mere bruise can do little to mar such fine features." Benvolio muttered quietly, directing his gaze back to the expanse of sky and stars above them. Mercutio blinked owlishly and then glanced furtively at the other, trying to read the expression on Benvolio's face. Had he been speaking sarcastically? His gentle voice had not sounded teasing, so perhaps… No. No, he need only look over to see the glint of a jest in his companion's eyes.

Well, he couldn’t exactly see Benvolio's face. It was obscured by the night-darkened brunette curls that coiled around it, hiding that which might have been found there. This was indeed a problem, but one Mercutio certainly knew how to solve. Unthinkingly, he reached out towards the other and let his long, thin fingers weave easily into brown locks, drawing them away from the Montague's face and tucking some behind an ear pinkened with the chill of night air. He withdrew his hand, only registering what he had just done when his hand was resting on the cold grass again.

It was Benvolio's turn to blink owlishly now, and he turned his beryl eyes to the man sitting next to him. The gentle touch burned pleasantly, significantly. Benvolio’s heart seemed to feel the contact even more keenly than his cheek. Mercutio drew in a breath.

A minute passed, and then two. It seemed that time had stilled momentarily, as though even the gentle breeze rustling through the trees paused to watch the scene.

"Perhaps thou should'st…" Benvolio trailed off, mouth slightly ajar. For all of his avid reading, he could not seem to make himself dredge up the correct words from his flustered mind.  
Mercutio glanced around nervously, and then he stared into the black, diamond-dappled sky as if searching for his own words in the stars.

"Perhaps," began Mercutio, "I should'st explain." He said, taking the unspoken words from Benvolio's still-parted lips, words he hadn't even known he was trying to say. The curls tucked behind his ear suddenly felt heavier, and the ghost of Mercutio's touch prickled a path across his cheek. Never had Mercutio touched him so intimately. In fact, Benvolio had never once known him to touch another person that gently. Mercutio’s general aversion to tender touch was what made the situation particularly puzzling. Benvolio felt that peculiar ache pulse somewhere deep in his chest.

"Yes," Benvolio whispered, “If you would.”

There was dead silence for a few eternal seconds.

"I could not see thy face." Mercutio stated simply.

"Oh." Benvolio answered, as if that was all there was to it. His clear gaze never left Mercutio. He could not will himself, for some reason, to pry his eyes from the other. Mercutio seemed to be thinking deeply about something, and Benvolio couldn’t help but admire even the deep lines between furrowed brows lowered in thought.

"I… I wished to discover thine intentions." Mercutio admitted after a silent minute.

"Intentions?" Benvolio inquired, eyes searching the side of the other's angular face, his level gaze trying hard to nudge its way into Mercutio's periphery.

"Your words," spoke Mercutio, "I willed to discover whether they were spoken in jest. They were, I gather." He met Benvolio's intent stare. When had he become the subject of such prying scrutiny?  
Benvolio was silent for a long time, and each second was like an eternity Mercutio spent sinking into blue-green pools of unfathomable emotions.

"No."

The word was spoken softly, tenderly, as if anything louder than a quiet murmur would shatter the obsidian glass of the sky above the two and the white-hot diamonds encrusted in its surface would come screaming down to meet them.

"Oh." Mercutio swore he could feel the bottom drop out of his stomach. For some reason his breath stuck to the walls of his throat; a giddy feeling bubbled in his stomach and overflowed into his chest.

"I do apologize for my… I would, well, I rather believe that,” Benvolio let out a little sigh of frustration at his own flustered inarticulacy, “Perchance I should'st hie home." Benvolio finally bit out, feeling as if he was overreacting to what Mercutio meant as an innocent and insignificant touch between good friends. However, as he moved to stand, a weight landed on one of his legs, warm and firm and unyielding. In a sudden flash of impulse and a reluctance to let Benvolio escape, Mercutio had latched his hand onto a tensed thigh.

"No, soft, Benvolio, thou needst not-!" Mercutio blinked, something hot and heavy flaring to life in his chest as he bore his eyes into Benvolio's. The Montague could feel his cheeks warming, could feel his heart catching in his throat in a foreign, yet familiar, anticipation. Suddenly the ache in his chest that had been plaguing him for weeks, strong when he was alone but even more powerful in the presence of his friend, his dear friend Mercutio, seemed to burst into something searing.

_Ah_ , Benvolio thought with sudden clarity, _it was longing_.

"Th-thou canst not…" Mercutio's words died on his tongue. His confidence seemed to have fled and taken his quick wit and right mind with it, and all he was left with was the breath caught in his throat and the burning in his chest. He began to lean closer to Benvolio, as if pulled by some sort of gravity.

But that was just it wasn't it? Benvolio was a sun with his gravitational pull and Mercutio revolved around the Montague. Admittedly, he liked it indecently much when he saw Benvolio’s blue-green eyes light up. He loved the way his soft-looking brown curls fell haphazardly about. He loved making those expressive eyebrows disappear behind curly bangs in surprise. But nothing made Mercutio happier than drawing a laugh from his pink lips, making them quirk into a smile or twist oddly to hide one.

And, speaking of lips, suddenly Benvolio's were centimeters away. Warm air ghosted over Mercutio’s own as Benvolio exhaled shakily.

"Benvolio… Thou canst-" Mercutio's gaze flickered up from his friend's lips to meet with dewy blue-green eyes. Benvolio moved a fraction of an inch closer, his brown curls brushing against Mercutio's forehead. Benvolio knew they both wanted something, could feel his own desire spreading throughout his body with fiery tendrils, engulfing every nerve.

"I canst what, dear Mercutio?" Benvolio whispered, his full lips barely brushing the blonde's thin ones. Each syllable spoken sent a shock through Mercutio's spine, the heavy breaths the other expelled mingling with his own.

"If thou would, thou could'st lean in…" he paused to exhale a slow breath that rolled off of Benvolio's parted lips, "a bit closer."

Benvolio seemed to consider it, open mouth pulling up a bit at the corners. Then, in one fluid motion he tangled his fingers into the straight, silky blonde of Mercutio's hair and tugged him in. Their lips collided and for a moment it seemed as if they really had broken they sky, shattered it into a million pieces and didn't even have the decency to care as a million stars fell like rain around them, bathing them in a light they couldn't even see because their eyes were shut tight. But they could feel it – could feel the warmth of all the stars in the sky. Mercutio felt the warmth of the sun, his sun, with brown hair and piercing eyes. Benvolio felt the warmth of Mercutio's golden hair tangled in one hand and his ivory skin underneath the fingertips of the other.  
Benvolio let himself sigh into Mercutio’s mouth, his desire finally being answered with equal passion. He sought to bring Mercutio even closer, sliding a hand around his slim waist and pulling him forward, all the while adjusting to straddle Mercutio’s thighs.

A sharp tongue traced a line across Benvolio’s plump lower lip, which began to tremble ever-so-slightly. The brunette whined almost inaudibly, parting his lips in invitation and pressing impossibly closer. Mercutio dove in immediately, mapping out the inside of Benvolio’s mouth with a nimble tongue.

Benvolio responded in kind, tasting Mercutio after gaining control of the kiss. Mercutio moaned shamelessly, his hands trailing from Benvolio’s face to his waist. His touch tingled all the way down Benvolio’s sides, and he broke the kiss to gasp for air. Foreheads touched and eyes bore into each other heatedly, and with uncharacteristic force, Benvolio pressed Mercutio’s back to the ground beneath them.

Heavy pants pierced the silence of the serene hilltop, and Benvolio couldn’t help but admire Mercutio. His thin lips were red and glistening, blown pupils concealed between half-lidded eyes, cheeks flushed the color of a budding rose. Everything was drenched in the pale moonlight, giving the scene an almost ethereal quality.

“Pray tell, dear Benvolio,” Mercutio panted, “Why dost thou dally? Prithee, I would that thou continue.” Benvolio chuckled in response, leaning forward until he touched noses with the blonde.

“Thou have not patience, dear Mercutio. But, I am generous, and thou art fair.” Before Mercutio could retort with a smart remark, Benvolio had claimed his lips again. Strong, pale hands slipped under the Montague’s blue tunic, flitting about the heated skin with feather-light touches. Benvolio grunted softly into thin, parted lips, and broke with them to plant soft, hot kisses along Mercutio’s sharp jawline. The blonde groaned but continued his touches, caressing the caramel skin of Benvolio’s chest. His hand brushed sensitive flesh in such a manner that the brunette gasped breathlessly.

“ _Perhaps!_ ” Benvolio exclaimed, shooting upwards and shifting above Mercutio in a way that made the blonde struggle to muffle a keening cry, “We should’st hie to my home.”

“Thou art wise, dear Benvolio,” Mercutio spoke, feeling the stab of a rock somewhere under his left hip, “Ere we make the earth akin to a chamber, mayhaps thou and I should’st hie thither to smithy better suited to our tools.”

Benvolio grinned and Mercutio chuckled as they helped one another up. The sky and its stars saw the two sneak into Verona hand-in-hand and enter a familiar bedchamber from a still, empty balcony. The moon, looming pale and soft in the black of the night watched quietly as two lovers disappeared into a secret place only they knew.

And it was perfect.

In the chill of the evening air on a night in Verona, no two people could ever have been better met by moonlight, excepting, perhaps, Romeo and Juliet.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading. :)  
> (i was leaning toward smut for a lil bit there but decided to keep it pg-13 for the roMANCE)  
> (maybe i'll write a continuation about what actually went on in the 'smithy' with the 'tools' Mercutio mentioned)  
> (wink)


End file.
